


A Sharp and Glorious Thorn

by ThatRavenclawBitch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: During Evil Queen | Regina Mills's First Dark Curse, F/M, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatRavenclawBitch/pseuds/ThatRavenclawBitch
Summary: When a cursed Belle escapes from the asylum, Regina calls on Emma to track her down discreetly. After all, everyone in town remembers the tale of the mad florist's daughter who murdered her own fiancé and is a hazard to herself and others.But Emma remembers Gold's words when he beat Moe French and wonders if this Annabelle French may be the mysterious "her".





	1. Chapter 1

Storybrooke was a town filled to the brim with secrets.

Some secrets were harmless, like the fact that Leroy’s crush on Sister Astrid wasn’t exactly unrequited, no matter that they’d never act on it. Some secrets were only weighing on the ones directly involved, like David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard’s guilt every time they saw Kathryn Nolan’s smiling face. And some secrets were enough to destroy the fabric of the entire town.

Regina Mills harbored such secrets, and one in particular was about to bring the world crashing down around her.

Belle French was missing from the asylum.

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Regina asked, rage simmering just beneath the surface as she stared down the nurse.

“She’s gone,” the nurse replied. “I went to bring her medication this morning and her cell was empty.”

Regina narrowed her eyes at the nurse, certain she wasn’t getting the whole story. At least she’d prepared for this eventuality. A new section of the curse would kick in if ever Belle escaped. The new cursed memories should be setting in shortly.

“So you’re telling me a malnourished, drugged, insane woman just walked through the walls of her locked cell door and escaped?”

The nurse looked uncomfortable, glancing down and to the side.

“Well,” she began. “I may have drifted off last night, briefly. It could have been enough time for someone to take the keys and let her out.”

Regina clenched her hands into fists, missing the days when she could have thrown a fireball at the other woman or snapped her neck with a twitch of her wrist.

“And who would have done such a thing?” she hissed out. “No one visits her. No one even knows she’s down here. Did you see anyone?”

The nurse licked her lip nervously. “There was an orderly I hadn’t seen before,” she admitted. “He brought me tea.”

Regina gripped on to the nurse’s desk with one manicured hand, leaning forward in to the other woman’s personal space.

“Tell me everything.”

* * *

Emma Swan had had a weird week.

Not that every week wasn’t strange in Storybrooke. She almost missed the days when it had seemed like a quiet, unassuming town where nothing ever happened, one day fading in to the next. But so far this week she’d had to pull an enraged Mr. Gold off of local florist Moe French, arrest the man in question, and attempt to clean the word _whore_ off her roommate’s car after her affair with a married man was made public.

And now Regina Mills was in her office, something that never boded well.

“What can I do for you, Madam Mayor?” she asked, not bothering to look up from her donut and coffee.

“We have a problem,” she said, stepping up to Emma’s desk. “And as much as it pains me, I need your help.”

That startled Emma into looking up at Regina, pausing mid chew. She swallowed, setting her donut down on the desk.

“Excuse me?” she said.

Regina slapped a manila folder on to the desk in front of Emma and she sat up straighter.

“A patient has escaped from the asylum,” Regina began.

“What asylum?” Emma interrupted, but Regina continued as though she hadn’t heard her.

“Annabelle French is criminally insane. I have reason to believe she’s a danger to herself and others. She must be apprehended quickly.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma interrupted again. “Did you say French?”

“Yes,” Regina said with a nod.

“Any relation to Moe French?”

Regina sighed impatiently. “His daughter. Why?”

Emma frowned, crossing her arms. Then gave a little shake of her head. “No reason. I’m just hearing that name a lot this week.”

The gears were turning, but there was no reason to let Regina know what she was thinking.

“Yes, well, her father is a thief and she’s a murderer. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Murder?”

She sat forward again, flipping open the file Regina had dropped on her desk. The front page contained a black and white mug shot of a young woman. She was very pretty, with dark hair and large eyes. She looked scared in the photo, sad. 

Regina flipped the page to the next, a police report in Graham’s familiar scrawl.

“She killed her own fiancé,” Regina supplied as Emma scanned the report. “Stabbed him with a kitchen knife and then set fire to his house to burn away the evidence.”

Emma let out a low whistle, flipping through the file. It seemed Miss French had been found not guilty by reason of insanity and committed to the Storybrooke Asylum for treatment. She’d been there for the past four years.

“This is a peaceful town, Miss Swan,” Regina continued. “I don’t think I have to explain how a story this violent rocked Storybrooke to its core.”

“Sure,” Emma said. “So she escaped. What more do we know?”

“It happened some time between midnight and six AM,” Regina said. “She’ll be on foot so she couldn’t have gotten far. I need you to find her and return her to the asylum for treatment.”

Emma pushed back from her desk, standing up. “No time like the present then,” she said, grabbing her jacket from the coat rack by the door and shrugging it on.

“Oh and Miss Swan,” Regina called after her. “I don’t want to incite a panic. Annabelle French’s name calls to mind a lot of bad memories. I need this to be discreet.”

Emma frowned, shaking her head. “If this girl is as dangerous as you say, shouldn’t we warn people?”

“Keep it between us,” Regina said, her voice low and dangerous. “Or else.”

With that the mayor turned on her heel and left the office. Emma adjusted her red leather jacket, grabbing her keys, phone and gun from her desk. Regina was lying about something, and she was going to figure out what.

* * *

Annabelle French knew she wasn’t crazy. Unfortunately, she was the only person in Storybrooke with that knowledge.

Her life was hazy in the asylum. She’d been on a steady diet of drugs, the walls of her cell unchanging, so she couldn’t rightly tell how long she’d been there. Her cell had one window, high in the wall and showing a mere slice of sky. There were bars covering even that small glimpse of the world outside and it was hard to mark the passage of time, the seasons, even the time of day. Instead she set her schedule by meal times, when the small grate in her door would open and a tray of unappetizing food would be pushed in twice a day, or medicine times, when the severe looking nurse would bring in a cup with her pills and another with lukewarm tap water, staring her down until she took them. If she refused, a large, burly man would come in and hold her down while the nurse injected her with something that burned inside her veins and left her unable to move for hours on end. After a while it was easier to just take the pills.

But her life before the asylum was still clear as day. She was Annabelle French, only daughter of Moe French. She'd had a life, a job, friends. She'd worked as a waitress at Granny's Diner. She'd gone to the Rabbit Hole on Friday nights with Ashley Boyd and Ruby Lucas. She'd had a fiancé, Jason Foster, who she'd dated since high school and expected to be with forever. She'd been bored out of her mind, living a life where every day seemed scripted for her with no adventure and no surprises. 

Perhaps that was why she'd allowed herself to be pulled in by Mr. Gold. He'd been dangerous and exciting, the antithesis to boring, vapid Jason. 

Belle shook her head. It was no use thinking about that now. That life was gone, just as assuredly as the haze of the asylum. She was outside once again, the fresh air freezing in her lungs. She didn’t mind the cold. It was worth it to be out of her cell.

She’d stolen the unconscious nurse’s coat off the back of her chair as she left, figuring she’d need it to cover her ragged hospital gown, and she was glad of it as she trudged down the forest road, frost clinging to the undergrowth. She still wasn’t sure what had happened. She’d been sitting, miserably, on the corner of her cot when the door had suddenly swung open. But no nurse or burly orderly barged in. When she peeked out in to the hallway, it had been deserted as well. Annabelle knew an opportunity when it presented itself. She’d run the length of the hall, finding her tormentor slumped over her desk. She’d taken her coat and her keys, keeping her head down as she left the claustrophobic confines of the hospital, and stumbled out into the dark winter night, finally a free woman.

She reached the top of the ridge overlooking town, rubbing her hands together as the first rays of sun breached the horizon. It was dawn, the lights of the shops along Main Street flickering to life as the townspeople went about their day, oblivious to how lucky they were. Granny's neon sign blazed to life meaning it must be seven in the morning. A moment later the shop across the street flickered on as well and Annabelle sucked in a ragged breath. 

Mr. Gold Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer. 

He was the reason she was here, shivering in the woods outside town instead of warm in her own bed. He was the reason she'd spent the past several years locked in a cell. He had abandoned her when she needed him. She shook her head, turning her back on the sign to head further into the woods. The cabin wasn't far and it was the only place she could think to go at the moment. She couldn't live outside in Maine in winter and she had no way of getting out of town at the moment. She would need clothing, money, food. For now she'd settle for being warm. 

Another half hour's walk brought her to the small cabin by the lake. She was shivering and weak with hunger, but she managed to find the spare key hidden under the little garden gnome statue and get the door open. There were still blankets in the chest in the bedroom and firewood piled up next to the fireplace. Soon Annabelle had a blaze going in the hearth, curled up in a flannel blanket beside it. Everything looked exactly the same as the last time she'd been here. If she closed her eyes and listened to the crackle of the fire, the heat seeping in to her tired muscles, she could almost pretend it was years ago, in that nebulous time when she'd thought she was happy. 

Annabelle sighed, opening her eyes and glancing down at her dirt streaked hospital gown. No. That time was long past. 

There were tears on her cheeks and she swiped them away angrily. She had more important things to worry about at the moment, first and foremost getting something in her stomach. Unfortunately the kitchen cupboards proved bare but for a tin of coffee. Annabelle set to work brewing a cup as her stomach gnawed at itself. She couldn't stay here, as warm as it was. She'd have to go to town for supplies and if she did that, someone might see her. 

She knew she had no friends left in town. Her own father would send her right back to the asylum if he spotted her, punishment for more than just Jason's death. But perhaps there was one person. Not a friend, but someone who _owed_ her. 

She shuddered at the thought, but she didn't have a lot of options. 

Annabelle cupped her hands around her coffee mug, soaking in the warmth. There was a chip in the rim, one she'd placed there years ago. 

She would wait until nightfall and then she would do what she had to.

* * *

"Gold? Are you in here?" 

Rumplestiltskin sighed, setting his teacup down on his workbench and sitting back. 

"Well it is my shop," he said dryly, calling Emma's attention to the back. A moment later, the curtain parting his inner sanctum from the sales floor flipped open. 

Emma Swan had certainly inherited her father's penchant for barging in to private property uninvited. 

The shop hadn't actually opened yet, despite the lights on inside. It was just gone eight in the morning and Rumplestiltskin had been looking forward to peaceful solitude for another hour at least. It wasn't as though he didn't have enough on his plate at the moment. Now that Regina knew he was awake, she was back to hounding him at every opportunity for help on her petty revenge. If only she knew he was all too happy to see her precious curse shatter to pieces. He'd spent 28 years of his life trapped in this town and he was eager to shake the dust of it off his shoes once and for all. Unfortunately he was at the mercy of an infuriatingly dense savior who appeared to need to be led to the truth by her nose. 

"Miss Swan," he said evenly, steepling his fingers in front of him. "To what do I owe the pleasure this morning?"

The curtain flapped closed behind Emma as she stomped across the wooden floorboards to stand before Gold, a folder clasped in one hand and a grim look on her face. 

"I figured out your little secret," she said, staring down at him. For once Rumplestiltskin was completely at a loss. If she'd figured out he was a character in a storybook she was certainly taking it in stride. 

"I beg your pardon?" he asked. 

Emma threw the folder down on the table in front of him, a few pages slipping out. It looked like a police report. 

"Her," Emma said. "The girl you beat Moe French to a pulp over." 

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "And I told you, sheriff. You must have misheard something." 

"Bullshit," Emma said and Gold's brows rose even further at the swear. "Annabelle French. Tell me what you know." 

Rumple's heart stuttered for a moment, the name tickling something in the far reaches of his mind that just seemed to be yawning awake. 

"I've never heard that name before in my life," he said, not untruthfully. 

Emma leaned her head back letting out a frustrated groan. "What is it with you people?" she demanded, looking back at Rumple. "Why won't anyone ever give a straight answer on anything? I'm trying to help you!" 

"And I'm telling you I don't need your help." 

Emma glared at him for a long moment before she reached down and flipped open the file. 

"But she does," she said, jabbing her index finger at a black and white photo. 

Rumple followed her finger, his breath catching and his blood freezing in his veins. Staring up at him from a black and white photo, the product of a dark curse, was a face he hadn't seen in thirty years. A face that was as dear to him as Bae's. Unbidden, his hand reached out to trace against her cheek. 

"Where did you get this?" he rasped out, his voice betraying his emotions no matter that he kept his face as neutral as possible. 

"So you do know her," Emma said with a knowing smirk. "Annabelle French. According to the mayor she escaped from the asylum last night and is a dangerous criminal. My gut tells me she's lying to me. So who is she really?" 

Rumple's head was spinning, hope blooming in his chest for the first time in years. She'd escaped from the asylum, one he'd had no memory of existing until today. The curse was changing, adapting to new information. Suddenly there was space for Belle when she'd played no part in things for 28 years. It all meant only one thing. Regina wasn't finding a new way to hurt him, plaguing him with painful memories to derail him. No. Belle was alive and Regina had secreted her away for decades, subjecting her to god knows what. 

Rumple swallowed, relief and rage washing through him in equal measure, and more than anything the realization that he needed to find Belle before Regina did. 

"She's Moe French's daughter," Rumple said, new memories suddenly springing in to his head along side his old false ones of Mr. Gold and his true ones as Rumplestiltskin. A clever little addendum to the curse that Regina must have woven in. "And until this very moment, I believed she was dead." 


	2. Chapter 2

Emma stared at Gold. Gold stared back. A tense silence hung between them. 

“What?” Emma finally said, breaking the silence. “You thought she was dead? Why?” 

“Because I was told as much,” was Gold’s curt reply. “Now if you don’t mind, sheriff, we really should get moving.” 

Gold stood, rounding the table between them, his cane tapping against the floorboards. 

“Wait,” Emma said as he brushed past her and stepped through the curtain to the front of the shop. “You haven’t actually told me anything!” 

Gold sighed, giving her a flat look. 

“What you need to know is that if Regina gets her hands on Belle before we do, she will be in very grave danger.” 

Emma shook her head. “Again with the evil Regina stuff. I get that she’s not exactly Suzy Sunshine, but she’s not some fairy tale villain!” 

Gold raised an eyebrow at her, giving her a once over and that made her feel exposed. Like he could read her every thought. 

“No,” he agreed at last. “She’s a very real villain. Now come along, Miss Swan. I’ll drive.” 

Emma scrambled after him, waiting for Gold to lock up the shop behind them and then following him to his car parked alongside the building. 

“Here's the thing, Regina wanted me to keep this investigation quiet,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat of Gold’s black Cadillac. “She said she didn’t want to incite a panic in town but I got the feeling she was lying. She didn’t want _you_ to know, did she?” 

“No,” Gold agreed as he turned the key in the ignition and peeled out on to Main Street. He zipped down the mostly empty street toward the wooded area north of town and Emma rolled her eyes. She needed a better answer than that. 

“Why not?” she prompted after it became apparent Gold wasn’t going to offer up more information on his own. 

Gold’s mouth flattened into a straight line, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. She had the feeling he was keeping in a swell of emotion, the likes of which had led him to smash his cane repeatedly into Moe French’s face. 

“Because Regina is the one who told me she was dead.” 

Emma’s eyes widened. Every bit of this story was more ridiculous than the part that came before it.

“Why would she do that?” she asked. 

“I assume it’s so I wouldn’t go looking for her. I’d have had Belle out of that asylum in an afternoon if I knew she was there.” 

“So you don’t think she’s crazy?” Emma asked, looking aside at him. 

“Of course she’s not crazy,” Gold said, his voice coming out in a growl. "And before you ask, no. She didn't kill anyone. Belle would never hurt a fly. She is everything good in this world.” 

Emma raised an eyebrow. Suddenly things were making a lot more sense. 

“Isn’t she a little young for you?” 

Gold’s eyes snapped up to meet hers and she snorted a laugh at his scandalized look. 

“Hey, I’m not here to judge,” she said, raising her hands. “You have a soft spot for the florist’s daughter. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.” 

“Oh I’m full of love,” he said sarcastically. Emma just rolled her eyes. 

“So who is Annabelle French?” she demanded. “Why would Regina go to all this trouble to lock away an innocent woman?” 

Gold sighed, his eyebrows drawing together as if he was trying to remember something that took place a lifetime ago rather than a few short years. 

“Belle was engaged to a man she didn’t love. He died under mysterious circumstances and suspicion fell on her. Until ten minutes ago, I thought she had killed herself after...” he trailed off, and Emma looked at him expectantly. “I knew nothing of an asylum, and nothing of her being committed there. I can guarantee she’s been held there against her will and without anything approaching legality. She’s probably scared and confused and...”

He trailed off, biting his lip, his hands tight on the steering wheel. Emma shook her head, certain she was seeing a side to Gold few had seen before. It was uncomfortable, finding out the beast had a heart. She wondered how much of it had died with Annabelle French. Maybe reuniting the two of them would be good for the whole town if it mellowed him out. 

Gold didn’t seem inclined to divulge any more than he already had and Emma still had questions. Why Regina would target the florist’s daughter was one, but she thought she might have her answer on that. She’d been around long enough to know that Gold and Regina were in a constant battle for biggest asshole in town. Regina probably saw Belle as Gold’s Achilles heel. She still couldn’t imagine her locking away an innocent woman just to one up an adversary though. Regina wasn’t that heartless, was she? 

“So let me guess,” Emma said, changing tactics. “Pretty young thing catches your eye. You play up the big gestures and the power and the money until you have her. Only problem is she’s already engaged to someone else. I already know how this town treats adulterers. Annabelle found herself ostracized once word about the two of you got out. Things spiraled until finally the fiancé is dead in a blazing fire and somehow suspicion falls on her and not you.” 

Emma left off, looking askance at Gold again. 

“Like water off a duck’s back, huh?” 

Gold let out an unamused snort. 

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“Nope,” Emma said with a shake of her head. “Just thinking aloud.” 

“Well think quieter,” he snarked. “We’re almost there.” 

“Where are we going anyway?” Emma asked finally, looking out the window at the rush of trees. 

“My cabin,” Gold said succinctly. 

Emma’s head swung around to look at him. 

“Your cabin?” she repeated. “Why there?” 

Gold licked his lips nervously. “We used to um...go there.” 

Emma raised her eyebrows, a slightly disgusted look crossing her face. 

“You beat her dad half to death in your _love shack_?” she asked. 

Gold cast an eye sideways at her. 

“Please withhold your commentary.” 

“No,” Emma said, with a shake of her head. “I’m kind of impressed. It’s poetic in a sick way. Very on brand for you.” 

Gold huffed something that almost sounded like a laugh as they approached the familiar turn off for his cabin. It was only a few days ago she was driving up here in the dead of night, pulling him off Moe French not a moment too soon. Now they were here for a different but related purpose. 

“The way you were beating on old Moe, saying he hurt her, he shut her out?” Emma said. “I take it he didn’t like his daughter being mixed up with you.” 

Gold's mouth twisted. 

“I appear to owe Mr. French an apology,” he said bitterly. “He stole my teacup, but he didn’t drive his daughter to suicide after all.” 

“This fucking town,” Emma muttered. 

Annabelle French. Belle, as Gold called her. Emma couldn’t help but wonder at the woman who’d managed to capture Gold’s heart. It seemed like she might not have to wonder for long.

The long, tree lined drive up to Gold’s cabin looked different in daylight, but Emma sat up straighter at a sight in the distance. Gold saw it at the same time she did. A plume of smoke drifting up from inside the thicket of trees. 

“The chimney,” she said at the same time as Gold’s “She’s here.” 

He slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, the Cadillac bumping and jerking along the forest road until they peeled up in front of the cabin. Gold was out of the car before he’d even turned it off, nearly sprinting up the front steps despite his cane. Emma followed, unsheathing her gun just in case. 

By the time Emma made it inside, Gold was already stooped over the fireplace, poking at the smoldering embers. There was a nest of blankets beside the fireplace, an overturned mug staining the hearth rug with coffee. Gold picked up the mug, examining it closely. 

Emma poked around the small kitchen before darting down the short hallway where a bedroom and bathroom were located. The shower stall was wet, droplets sliding down the tiled wall and a steady drip coming from the shower head. Someone had used it recently. The bedroom across the hall was similarly disturbed, a divot in the pillow showing someone had rested there. Otherwise there were no signs of life. The cabin was empty.

“There’s no one here,” Emma said, emerging from the back room, her gun hanging at her side. Gold had been staring out the back door on to the deck overlooking the lake. It looked as empty as the cabin. 

“Would you put that thing away?” Gold scolded her, motioning at her gun. “I’ve already told you she’s not dangerous.” 

Emma made a show of holstering her gun, holding her hands up.

“Happy?” 

“Indubitably.” 

Emma gave a short nod, stepping past Gold to slide open the back door and crossing the deck in quick stride. The lake was undisturbed in the late morning light, its surface smooth as glass. The woods on the other side of the lake were still, a gentle breeze ruffling the leaves high in the trees. A whippoorwill's distinctive song rang out across the lake, everything a picture of serenity. 

“Well, someone was definitely here,” Emma said, her breath condensing into puffs in the cold air. “But how do we know for sure it was Belle? Mary Margaret stumbled upon this place once to get out of the rain. Maybe it was a lost hiker or something.” 

She turned back to look at Gold, framed in the doorway. He glanced down at the discarded coffee cup in his hand, running his thumb over a noticeable chip in the rim, an unfathomable look on his face. 

“It’s her,” he said assuredly. “She can’t be far. We’ll just have to comb the woods for her.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “What, just you and me?” 

Gold set the mug down on the rough hewn kitchen table with a clunk, rounding on her irritably. 

“Do you have a better idea?” 

“No,” Emma admitted. “I just wish we had more manpower. The forest is vast and there’s only two of us and lets face it, you’re just going to slow us down.” 

She gave a pointed look at Gold’s cane and he adjusted his grip on the handle. There was only so much Gold would realistically be able to do, his cane a deterrence in the thick underbrush. 

“You managed to find David Nolan in these woods when he escaped the hospital,” Gold pointed out.

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, walking back into the cabin. “But he was unconscious. Annabelle is clearly alert and hardest of all, she doesn’t want to be found.” 

“Sheriff, it’s cold,” he said. “She almost certainly is underdressed. She could catch her death out here before anyone finds her. We have to _try_.” 

“And I will try,” Emma said, sliding the back door shut with a bang. “Look, she doesn’t know me. She’s going to see a badge and run probably thinking I’m here to return her to the asylum. Trust me, I know what it’s like to be a scared girl on the run from the law. But you? She knows you. She... _knows_ you. Maybe you should head back to your shop or your house. She might come to you for help.” 

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m not gonna just wait around for her to turn up. Or stumble back in to Regina’s grasp.”

“Hey,” Emma said, daring to place a hand on Gold’s arm. He tensed, glancing down at it like it was something alien. “I won’t let Regina lock her up again. I promise you that. I know about the asylum now and you’d better believe I’ll have a thorough look at everyone incarcerated there.””

Gold stared at Emma for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. 

“Can you please just trust me to help her?” she asked. “Finding people is what I do. And as sheriff, I promise I will get her case reopened.” 

Gold's jaw tensed for a moment before he seemed to deflate. Finally, he nodded. 

“Good,” Emma said, snatching her hand back from Gold’s arm. “I’m gonna start my search. I’ll call you if I find anything.” 

He gave a stiff nod as she swept passed him to the front door of the cabin. Emma was already formulating a plan of attack, how best to cover the most ground. Someone as skittish as Annabelle wouldn’t be in view of the road, but she probably wouldn’t stray too far either, not wanting to get lost in the Maine wilderness. She’d be underdressed and probably tired. The poor girl wouldn’t be going far. 

“Go home Gold,” she called over her shoulder as she stomped down the front steps. “Obviously something brought her to this cabin. If she’s going to seek out anyone, it’ll be you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Gold muttered under his breath. But before Emma could even begin to speculate on what that meant, he slammed the cabin door closed behind her

* * *

Annabelle’s first day of freedom was far from comfortable. 

After two cups of coffee, a shower, and a short nap at the cabin, she’d heard the rumbling of a car outside. She supposed she had her years in the asylum to thank for her keen hearing. For years her only entertainment had been listening closely to the strains and bits of conversations that would waft down into her cell from the street out front of the hospital. She’d occasionally hear snatches of a deep laugh or a child’s squeal of glee. Those little things sustained her, reminded her that there were still good things in the world like old friends laughing or a child’s excitement. 

Now she could use that talent to hear a car coming from the main road. 

She didn’t have time to clean up after herself, just grabbed her coat and shoes and rushed out into the woods outside the cabin. She stayed just long enough to see that it was Mr. Gold’s Cadillac, that old familiar thrill racing down her spine before she tamped it down. There was no reason for excitement at the sight of Mr. Gold. Not anymore. 

There was a pretty blonde in the passenger’s seat and something in Belle’s stomach clenched uncomfortably, a feeling not unlike jealousy. She was gone and he’d already replaced her with someone new, someone prettier or smarter or more worldly. Someone he considered worthy of him in a way she could never be. 

Belle balled her hands into fists, her breath coming out in quick little pants. She couldn’t stay here and watch him canoodle with his new girl, left to wonder how long she’d been gone before he had someone new in. Someone he was proudly driving to the cabin, for all the world to see. 

She turned stomping off into the forest. So much for her hiding place for the day. She’d be forced to spend the day in the elements and Gold might not even be home tonight for the rest of her plan to come to fruition. 

But only a few minutes later she heard the bang of the cabin's front door. She crept back in time to see the blonde woman leaving, headed into the woods on the other side of the cabin on foot. Either Gold’s stamina wasn’t what it used to be, or something else was going on. 

A cold feeling settled in Belle’s stomach. They must have noticed someone had broken in. Perhaps they were looking for the intruder. Perhaps they even knew she was missing from the asylum and suspected she was in the area. Sheriff Graham could be out searching for her right now. 

With that in mind she headed deeper into the forest, without getting too far from the road. She’d sneak down into town under cover of darkness and let herself into Gold’s house. If he wasn't there, she would simply wait for him to come back. 

The rest of the day passed achingly slowly. 

Annabelle found the husk of a hollowed out oak tree providing shelter on three sides. She stooped down into it, pressing her back into the hollow and pulling her knees up against her chest. The weak sunlight streaming through the trees offered little in the way of warmth and she shivered in her borrowed coat. 

She’d become accustomed to solitude over the past few years and it served her well now. The asylum had necessitated the ability to zone out, to live entirely in her own head. She’d spent years remembering passages from her favorite book, replaying old movies she’d seen multiple times in her mind’s eye, or else day dreaming, concocting pretty fantasies for herself where Gold had told her he loved her that fateful night. That they had left Storybrooke behind and were happy together. 

She drifted off a few times, startling awake when she’d hear a twig snap nearby, or a rustle of leaves. A few times she thought she heard her name being yelled out, but she chalked it up to her exhausted mind. 

Her stomach ached with hunger, gnawing and cramping until she thought she would be sick. By dusk she’d started vomiting up bile, her vision going blurry with the effort. She was dehydrated, she knew. She needed water and food and a proper night’s sleep. To get any of that, she needed to get to Gold. 

She shuffled to her feet, feeling unsteady. Despite the cold, her face was drenched in sweat, trickling down her back beneath her layers of clothes. She was suddenly burning up, but she couldn’t remove her coat. Hypothermia, her mind supplied. If she started removing layers she’d be done for. 

The walk back to Gold’s took a half hour on a good day and Belle was certainly in no condition for it now. It took closer to an hour before she found herself at the end of Gold’s street, the street light at the end of the drive illuminating the salmon colored Victorian she’d once spent so many enjoyable evenings in. Gold’s Cadillac was parked outside. He was home after all. 

She steeled her spine, standing up as straight as she could. The cramping in her stomach was near debilitating but she pushed on. She was so close to her goal. If she could only be brave for a while longer. 

Mr. Gold had a set routine, one Belle remembered from their time together. That knowledge worked to her advantage tonight. 

It was just after 8:30 in the evening which meant Gold would be in his study with a glass of scotch and his antique gramophone. He’d probably be playing one of Mahler’s symphonies and reading a book, something he’d read before so he wouldn’t be distracted too badly from either the music or the novel. Once he finished his drink and his book he’d head upstairs and start to prepare for bed. Belle intended to catch him in the study. That's where he kept his safe. 

It was a work of moments to find the spare key he’d hidden away for her so many years ago just like the one at the cabin. Annabelle had always been instructed to let herself in. It made less of a spectacle if she tiptoed in on her own under cover of darkness. Back then she’d gotten a thrill from the illicitness of it all. Now she realized he was ashamed of her. That he’d never have taken their stupid little affair public. She was nothing to him, no matter how she’d managed to convince herself otherwise. 

The house was surprisingly quiet, no strains of classical music drifting down the hall like she’d expected. It should have put her on alert that something was different tonight, but it was warm, deliciously so, and she tiptoed inside, shutting out the cold outside with a gentle click of the door.

Gold’s gun was exactly where she remembered, tucked away in the drawer in the front hall. She pocketed it, holding it tightly in her grip as she crept down the hallway toward the study. 

He was there, and she let out a silent sigh of relief that his lack of music didn’t foretell that he’d gone to bed early. He was sitting on the brown leather sofa in front of the fireplace, his back to the door. The only light came from the fire in the hearth in front of him, casting him in shadow, nothing but a dark silhouette against the red glow of the flames. He looked like the devil she’d once denied him to be. The devil she now knew he was. 

His head was leaned back against the back of the sofa, his bad leg propped up on an ottoman and stretched out toward the fire. He was stock still, almost as if he was asleep. 

Quiet as a mouse Belle walked up behind him, grateful for the asylum issued white tennis shoes that made so much less noise than the heels she’d favored in her life before. She raised the barrel of the gun, pressing it into the back of his head and pulling back the hammer. 

Gold’s head lifted infinitesimally from its place on the sofa, his shoulders tensing beneath the fine silk of his dress shirt. Then he let out a soft huff of laughter. 

“What are you gonna do now, dearie?” he asked, his voice haughty. “Shoot me? You should know by now I’m not that easy to be rid of.”

Quick as a shot he reached back, grabbing Belle’s wrist, and wrenched her forward over the back of the sofa. She toppled over into Gold’s lap and suddenly she was face to face with him for the first time in years. The man she loved. The man who’d ruined her. A man she would kill if she had to. 

Gold’s eyes went wide, his face paling, as he stared down at her. His grip on her wrist went slack and she was able to wrench back from him, tumbling onto the floor and scrambling for the gun she had dropped, training it on Gold again as she stood up on unsteady feet. 

He made no move to take the gun from her again, just staring up at her frozen, as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Belle,” he gasped. “You’re real. You’re alive.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Belle pulled a gun on an unsuspecting Gold. Here's what happened next.

Rumplestiltskin had known Belle was alive for a solid twelve hours, but until she toppled into his lap, he hadn’t really allowed himself to believe it. 

Despite Emma’s earlier advice that he retreat somewhere Belle might seek him out, he hadn’t really expected her to do so. Apparently the Savior was better at her job than he’d given her credit for. 

After a couple of hours of searching on his own, he’d had to concede Emma’s first point. He wasn’t much use tramping through the forest with his bad leg and he’d certainly be no use to Belle if he stumbled down a hill and broke his neck. He spent the next few hours driving his Cadillac down the forest roads searching for any sign of Belle, not that he held out much hope. She wouldn’t be out in sight of the road where anyone could spot her. When dusk settled in he had no choice but to follow Emma’s advice and head home. 

His ankle was burning with pain by the time he got settled in front of the fireplace in his study, his leg stretched out toward the warmth. He didn’t have the energy for tea or coffee, no matter that the caffeine would do his pathetic mortal body good at the moment. He needed to stay awake, to keep vigil all night if he had to on the off chance Belle would come by, no matter how slim his hope was. 

Mr. Gold had thrown Belle out just as callously as Rumplestiltskin had. She would hate him as both Belle and Annabelle. 

Gold ground his teeth together, hating the dark curse more by the second. He’d never expected Belle to be caught up in it. He wasn’t sure what he would have done to amend it if he had. The very thing that had been designed to bring him to Baelfire was now the one thing keeping him from him. And now it was hurting Belle to boot. She was out there somewhere even now, cold and afraid in a world she may not even understand. 

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the smooth brown leather of his sofa. He’d started to drift off slightly when he heard it, the soft click of a gun cocking. His lips pulled back in a snarl. Apparently Regina was tired of using Belle against him and had decided to show up and put an end to their rivalry for good. Too bad a bullet wouldn’t kill him, not even in this world without magic. 

He’d reached back as much to startle her as stop her, but then Belle had fallen across his lap, beautiful, maddening Belle. 

She clamored to her feet, her movements jerky and unpracticed. Suddenly his Walther PPK was pointed in his face and he couldn’t even bother to feel the least bit of annoyance at it. Because Belle was here and she was alive. He felt a stupid smile crossing his face, tears springing to his eyes as he reached for her instinctively. Belle jerked back from him. 

“Don’t make me shoot you!” she cried. And Gold snapped back to himself, scanning their cursed memories. She had every reason to want him dead. 

“Okay,” he said, slowly raising his hands up in supplication. Belle seemed to relax ever so slightly and he took in the sight of her like a dying man.

She was pale, her once rosy cheeks taking on a sickly pallor. Her brown hair hung dull and lifeless around her face, lacking the shiny curls he remembered so fondly. She was too thin, the large coat she was wearing dwarfing her and making her appear even tinier than usual. But her eyes, her eyes were as blue and as fierce as the day she’d left him in that dungeon, his eyes closed against words that struck far too close to home. 

_You're a coward, Rumplestiltskin._

Most of all, she was alive. 

She was the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine. 

“Belle,” he said, his voice little more than a rasping sound. 

“Gold,” she said back, venom dripping from the word. 

She was shaking visibly, the gun trembling precariously in her hand. He didn’t think Belle, or Annabelle, would really shoot him. But she just might discharge the gun on accident. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt like a bitch. 

“Belle,” he said again, his eyes trained on her face. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” 

“Don’t call me that!” she spat, her grip on the gun tightening. 

He nodded, a slow bob of his head. 

“Belle, please put the gun down. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.” 

She snorted out a laugh, her arm sagging slightly as though it was taking great effort to hold the gun aloft. At this point he’d probably be shot in the hip rather than the head. 

“Little late for that, don’t you think?” she said. 

Sweat had broken out across her brow, her body shaking more violently. 

“Shit,” she whispered, wiping her free hand across her brow. 

“Belle, when is the last time you had something to eat?” 

“Don’t know,” was her response. “Yesterday? Day before?” 

As he thought. He hadn’t had anything edible in the cabin and he couldn’t imagine she’d been anywhere else hospitable today. 

“Let me get you a proper meal and a warm bath,” he pleaded, sitting forward ever so slightly. Belle stepped back, the firelight at her back like an aura surrounding her. Burning red and angry, righteous and just. 

“If I take this gun off you, you’ll call the hospital or the police or my father or someone who will send me back there,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m not going back there.”

“No,” he agreed. “I would never send you back there. Belle I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me, but darling I will give you whatever you want. No threatening necessary.” 

Belle blinked at him for a moment, as though it was taking a beat longer for her to process his words than it should. She was clearly ill and his desire to care for her was at war with his desire to give her her autonomy. He certainly wouldn’t be mending any bridges if he tried to wrestle her into a bed and force feed her soup. 

Her arm sagged, the gun slapping against her thigh as she gave a little nod.

“You’re right,” she agreed, and he raised his eyebrows, shocked that he'd been able to get through to her so quickly. “I have no reason to trust you. But you do owe me and I know you don’t like to be in arrears.” 

Gold shook his head, her words striking close to his heart. Of course he owed her. He owed Belle the world. But that wasn’t why he was offering to help. 

“Is that honestly the only reason you think I would help you?” 

Belle snorted before clamping her mouth shut as though she might be sick. She swallowed, rubbing her free hand against her brow again. 

“What else would I think?” she asked. “It’s not like you ever cared about me.” 

Gold shook his head, tears springing to his eyes that he didn’t bother to wipe away. He couldn’t let Belle believe that for one moment more. He’d turned her out thirty years ago, rejected the beautiful gift of her love. He would never do so again. 

“That’s not true,” he said.

“You threw me away,” she accused, her eyes bright. “I loved you and you just threw me away like I was nothing! Like you got what you wanted from me and you couldn’t care less what happened next!” 

“I know,” he said with a nod, his voice cracking with emotion. “I know I did. But it wasn’t because I didn’t care. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to believe anything!” she countered. “You let them take me away! You let everyone think I was a murderer! You were there! You knew I didn’t do it and it you said nothing!” 

None of it was real. These cursed memories hadn’t even existed until yesterday. But Rumple knew he deserved them anyway. He’d thrown Belle out, even knowing that Regina suspected she was his true love. He’d turned his back on her and in doing so may as well have gift wrapped her and hand delivered her straight to Regina’s dungeon. Every moment of pain she'd experienced over the past three decades was his fault. 

“I was foolish,” he said. “No apology could ever make up for what you’ve been through, but I am sorry. Please, sweetheart, I love---” 

“Don’t!” she cried, brandishing the gun toward him once more. “Don’t you dare say it. You couldn’t say it when it mattered and now it’s way too late!” 

Gold nodded. It was nothing more than he expected. In his more hopeful moments, when he was given to flights of fancy, he would imagine seeing Belle again. That her death had been a terrible lie and she showed up on his doorstep like an avenging angel. Even in those fantasies, born of his deepest desires, she never forgave him. She told him he was too late, that he’d ruined his chance at happiness. He could bear that. He could bear anything if Belle was alive and safe and well. 

But right now she wasn’t well. 

“Let me help you,” he said again, quietly. “Please.” 

If possible, Belle looked even paler in the firelight, her whole body visibly trembling now. The neck of her threadbare hospital gown was damp with sweat, sticking to her chest. 

“Give me a car and five thousand dollars in cash,” she said simply. 

“Done,” he agreed readily. “But first you need food, clean clothing, and a good night’s sleep.” 

Belle scoffed. “If I go to sleep you’ll call Graham and have him throw me back in that cell.” 

“Graham’s dead,” he said, bringing Belle up short. “There’s a new sheriff now, Emma, and I promise this one’s not in bed with the mayor. She came to me when she found out you were missing. She promised to get you released.” 

Belle shook her head. “The blonde?” she asked. 

Gold raised an eyebrow. “You know her?” 

Belle shook her head again, the motion causing her to stumble slightly to the side. Gold reached out a hand to steady her and she glared at him. 

“I saw her at your cabin,” she explained. “I thought…” she trailed off, looking away, the gun once more limp in her hand. “It doesn’t matter. Even if my name was cleared, the town would still hate me. I...I have to leave.” 

“Please, Belle,” he said again, risking standing up, his ankle screaming in protest. Belle didn’t raise the gun at him and he took it as a win. “Stay here tonight. We’ll talk to Emma in the morning. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.” 

She looked up at him incredulously, her blue eyes standing out stark in her small, pale face. 

“You promise I won’t go back to the hospital?” she clarified, her voice shaking slightly. 

“I swear it,” he said with a fierce nod. “I swear that between myself and the sheriff, we’ll have the whole place shut down.” 

Belle stared at him for a long moment, her eyes penetrating. 

“I’ve never seen you cry before,” she said, almost wonderingly. Rumple realized there were fresh tears on his cheeks, falling silently for almost the length of this conversation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried in front of someone, honestly. It seemed fitting it would be Belle. “You're different."

He took a deep breath, chancing to reach for her hand. Her fingers were limp and cold as he untangled them from the handle and tossed the gun onto the couch behind him. 

“Belle,” he said, holding her chilly hand in his own. “I only want to help you.” 

She must have seen he was telling the truth because finally, she nodded. 

“Okay,” she breathed. 

With that word it was as though the strength had been sapped from her. Her knees buckled and Rumple reached out, catching her in his arms as he pitched forward on to the rug, his knees hitting the ground painfully. 

“Belle,” he said, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of her face as he cradled her tiny body in his other arm. 

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly glassy. 

“My love,” she said, one trembling hand coming up to ghost across his cheek. “I knew you’d come for me.” 

And then her eyes rolled back, her head lolling to the side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all ready for some hurt/comfort!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shows up 8 months late with no Starbucks because we're social distancing like adults.

It was hot, flames licking against her face until she was sure her skin was charred, her bones disintegrating to ash. She was disoriented, unsure of which way to go. Nevertheless she pressed on, stumbling blindly through the inferno until she reached the door, gasping for breath in the moonlit night. 

She was lightheaded and she fell against the pavement, the rough cement scraping her knees and the palms of her hands. Her eyes were watering, smoke pouring out of the house behind her. Her ears were ringing but even so she could hear the roar of the fire and the distant sound of wailing sirens. She coughed, her lungs burning, protesting. Large hands grabbed her by the biceps, pulling her up to stand.

Annabelle startled awake, sucking in a ragged breath. 

Those large hands were still holding her upper arms, pulling her bodily from the dream and she flinched away, her back pressing against something soft. 

“It’s okay,” Gold said, holding his hands up and away from her, as if he couldn’t stand to touch her any longer than was necessary. “It was just a nightmare.” 

She was trembling, her breath coming out in pants. It had been a while since she’d had that particular nightmare and waking up to Gold’s face above hers had her half expecting she was still dreaming, that soon he would morph into something monstrous, his teeth growing long and his nails transforming to black claws. But he didn’t change, just an anxious, careworn face looking back at her. 

Belle shook her head, the haze of the dream falling away as she realized that she was lying in a bed, though she had no recollection of how she’d got here. The white sheets were cool against her heated skin, the pillows at her back feathery and soft. She hadn’t slept on anything more comfortable than her flat, rickety hospital cot in years and she found herself sinking into the softness in spite of herself. 

“What happened,” she asked, her voice coming out in a ragged croak. 

Gold sat back in a spindly wooden chair next to her bedside now that he’d ascertained she wasn’t going to hurl herself bodily from the bed in a fit. 

“You fainted,” he said simply and Belle nodded, the past coming back to her. She’d broken in, she’d yelled at Gold, he’d said he’d help her. 

She wondered if he’d called the hospital while she’d slept, if they were on their way even now. She wanted to bolt from the room, but she was too spent. She had nowhere to go in any case. 

Gold was still looking at her with those worried eyes and she couldn’t stand the sight for another moment. Instead, she cast her eyes around the room, but it wasn’t one she recognized from her many nights spent in his home. The bed was smaller than the large wooden four poster in Gold’s room, the furnishings sparser. A guest room she presumed, though she was willing to bet she was the first person to ever sleep in it. Gold didn’t have friends or family or anyone. That was how he liked it. 

“How long was I out?” she asked, rubbing her hands against her face. Her skin felt sticky and gritty. She needed a bath. 

“About nine hours,” Gold said. “I imagine you needed the rest.” 

So he hadn’t called anyone then. She doubted the asylum would have waited patiently for her to wake up before dragging her back to her cell. She’d been gone for over twenty-four hours. Gold had kept his word, for now.

Belle gave a stiff nod. She did feel better, even if a shower and something to eat wouldn’t go remiss. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking on the words. “For letting me sleep.” 

Gold looked down at his hands, shaking his head slightly. 

“Don’t thank me,” he said, so lowly Belle wasn’t sure if she was supposed to hear it. 

She looked at Gold for the first time, really looked at him. He was in his shirt sleeves, his cuffs undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows exposing his forearms, the sparse golden hair catching the morning light as his hands fidgeted together, a familiar tic of his. His jaw was lightly stubbled, his eyes tired, and his face creased with worry. He seemed older than she remembered. Perhaps it was lack of sleep. 

“Have you been here all night?” she asked. 

He simply nodded. “You were sick a few times in the night,” he said. “It seemed prudent to be here, keep you from choking.” 

Belle swallowed, glancing away again. Her throat felt raw, her tongue thick in her mouth. She’s sure she was a pleasant sight, shaking and sweating and vomiting the night through. 

“It’s the drugs,” she croaked out. “I’ve been on them for so long at the hospital. This must be withdrawal.” 

Gold looked back up at her, his large, dark eyes so full of sadness. What did he have to be sad about? The only reason she was ever in that asylum was because of him. 

His jaw tensed, his hands gripping on to his knees so tightly that his knuckles were white. He seemed to flip a switch from sadness to rage, at who she couldn’t be certain. 

“What?” she asked. 

“You never should have been there,” he gritted out. “She…” he trailed off. “She’ll pay for this.” 

Belle raised an eyebrow, cocking her head at Gold. “Who?” she asked. 

Gold’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. 

“Why Regina, of course.” 

Belle blinked. “The mayor?” she asked. “What does she have to do with this? You’re the reason I was there.” 

Gold shook his head. “I had no idea you were there, Belle, please believe me. If I had the slightest idea you were here, that you were alive, I’d have done everything in my power to free you.” 

Alive. That was what he’d said last night when he’d first seen her, that she was real, alive. 

“Why would you think I was dead?” she asked, her vision swimming slightly, her head still light from sickness and hunger. 

“Because that’s what I was told. Regina, the mayor, she said you’d killed yourself because of your father. Because...because of me.” 

“Oh,” she said, simply. So that explained it, why he was so contrite, so remorseful. It wasn’t because he regretted what had happened between them. It was because he’d felt guilty for her death. That must have weighed heavily even on someone as stoic and staid as Gold. “Why would she do that?”

Gold gaped, seemingly lost for words. “I...I don’t know,” he said finally. “But you can be damned sure I’ll find out and she will regret the day she was ever born.” 

There it was, the darkness always simmering just below the surface, the swirling pit of malice that he’d so far kept reined in. It could never last long though. This was the man who had betrayed her, who’d kept a straight face while he lied to the whole town that she’d fabricated their affair. That he’d never so much as spoken three words to her. The man who watched as she was cuffed and escorted to a police car in the middle of Main Street before turning his back and walking away. 

“Well your conscience can be clear on that front,” she said with no small amount of venom. “Your rejection didn’t drive me to suicide.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it’s the reason you ended up in the asylum.” 

He reached a tentative hand out, brushing his fingertips against the back of her hand, lying on the counterpane. She snatched it away, crossing her arms against her chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Gold said, pulling his hand away slowly. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I am _so_ sorry.” 

He let out a ragged breath, blinking the tears from his eyes. Belle turned away, looking out the window at the morning light. She didn’t want his tears or his apologies. She didn’t know what she wanted. There were times in the asylum, when she sat and stared at her grey walls for hours on end, letting her mind wander to the outside world, where she dreamed he would come for her. That one day the metal door would scrape open and Gold would be standing there in his three piece suit, telling her that he was sorry, that he’d cleared her name of all charges, and that he’d convinced the town she wasn’t crazy by telling them what had really happened that night. In her fantasies he would fall to his knees, begging her forgiveness and she would walk away, leaving him there in a puddle of his own tears. 

The reality wasn’t as satisfying. She had him right where she’d wanted him all those years and she didn’t feel vindicated or justified. She just felt sad. She wasn't built for vengeance it seemed.

“I’m hungry,” she said, and Gold leapt to his feet immediately. 

“Of course you are!” he exclaimed. “I made soup, if you’re up for it. Or I can just do toast. Scrambled eggs? Whatever you’d like.” 

Any of it sounded like heaven after the tasteless slop from the asylum. But she didn’t trust herself to keep much down if she gorged herself now. 

“Soup sounds good,” she agreed. “And toast.”

Gold nodded, a small smile crossing his face. He seemed on better footing now that he had an errand. She knew how he hated to be idle. 

As if on queue, her stomach growled loudly and Belle glanced down at herself, noticing for the first time that she was no longer in her hospital gown. Instead she was wearing a man’s t-shirt, falling loose around her hips. Her bottom was bare against the sheets. 

“Did you change my clothes?” she asked.

Gold’s eyes widened before he looked away, out the open doorway as if longing to be down in the kitchen. 

“I had no choice,” he said defensively. “Your hospital gown was filthy and damp. You needed to be warm and dry.” 

He swallowed convulsively, his cheeks tingeing pink. “You...you didn’t have any underwear,” he pointed out, motioning toward her with a fluttering hand. “I promise I didn’t look any more than was necessary to get you dressed.” 

Belle arched an eyebrow at him. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen in any case,” she said dryly.

Gold gaped at her. 

“Right,” he said, with a nod. “Let me get you something to eat.” 

He snatched up his cane where it was balanced against the wooden chair, limping for the doorway. His limp seemed more pronounced than she remembered and she briefly wondered how he’d gotten her up the stairs last night with his bad ankle. He could have just left her there on the floor of his study but instead he’d carried her upstairs, changed her into clean clothing, and tucked her into bed. He’d stayed by her side all night, making sure she didn’t choke on her own vomit. He’d probably wiped her brow and rubbed her back and done all the things you’d expect from someone who loved you. But Gold didn’t love her. He never had. This was just his guilty conscience and once it was cleared he would go back to the cold shell of a man she knew he really was. 

There was a time she’d thought there was more to him, a man behind the beast. There was a time when she’d loved him so very dearly. 

Belle let her eyes slip closed, a tear trickling down her cheek. 

If only he’d been stronger. If only he’d told the truth. If only he hadn’t been so ashamed of being with her that he’d let the world burn rather than their secret get out. 

Belle swiped the tear away from her cheek, shaking her head to clear it. There was no use crying now, no use dwelling on what might have been. The only way to go was forward and that necessitated leaving Storybrooke and likely never seeing Gold again. 

She pushed herself up to sitting, rubbing her palms over the soft cotton of her shirt. After the scratchy material of her hospital gowns it felt positively luxurious. It smelled like Gold too, like his laundry detergent, the warm scent of his home. It smelled like home, Belle realized with a lurch. He had felt like home far more than her father's apartment or the cramped green and yellow clapboard house she'd shared with Jason. 

She pulled the neck of the t-shirt up over her nose, breathing it in. Then she got a whiff of herself and nearly gagged. Christ, she needed a bath. 

A few moments later, Gold returned to the bedroom balancing a tray laden with a bowl of soup, two thick pieces of toast with butter, and a cup of tea in one hand. Belle’s stomach rumbled at the smell and she sat up straighter as Gold maneuvered the tray over her lap. 

Her hands shook slightly as she reached for the spoon, the soup sloshing off the spoon as she brought it to her mouth, dribbling some down the front of her shirt. 

“Here,” Gold offered. “Let me.” 

He dragged the bowl across the tray toward him, spooning up some of the thick soup and holding it up for Belle. She was too hungry to worry about looking like a child or an invalid. She sat there in Gold’s bed, in Gold’s shirt, letting him spoon feed her. Before she knew it, he was scraping the bottom of the bowl. 

She reached for the teacup, taking a long sip, her hands steadier now. It had gone lukewarm while she ate, but it felt good going down her parched throat all the same. When she’d drained her tea, she started on the toast, nibbling at it as her stomach, so used to being empty, started to feel full to bursting. 

Gold sat back in the wooden chair again, tenting his fingers. 

“May I call the sheriff?” he asked, and Belle started, the toast falling from her fingers to clatter on the plate. 

“What?” she asked, her voice panicked. 

“Emma Swan,” Gold said. “Remember I told you about her last night?” 

Belle nodded. He’d said she could help, that she wanted to help. Belle couldn’t help but feel wary of law enforcement however. Sheriff Graham had loaded her into his patrol car one day, driven her to the hospital, and she didn’t see the outside world for four years. 

“She’ll want to come by and talk to you this morning,” Gold continued. “Would that be alright?” 

Belle licked her lips, considering. She supposed there was no way of clearing her name without talking to the sheriff. She could tell her what had happened that night. Maybe now Gold would even corroborate her story. 

“You really think this Emma Swan can help me?” she asked, clenching her fists together, her fight or flight response making her heart pound in her chest. 

“I know she can,” he said. 

“But if she can’t clear my name,” Belle said, trying to be pragmatic. “You’ll still give me $5,000 and a car? You’ll let me go?” 

Gold snorted. 

“Oh sweetheart, believe me,  _ when _ she clears your name you can have the entire contents of my bank account and a plane ticket to anywhere in the world.” 

There was a glimmer there, the man she’d once believed she knew. The man she’d loved. He was still there, after all and maybe closer to the surface than ever before. Or maybe it was all a trick, luring her into a sense of security so it was all the more brutal when it was snatched away. The thought made Belle's temple throb with the start of a headache. She didn't want to second guess his every move or question his every motive, but he'd given her no choice. 

He'd been good to her for one night though. He owed her for what had happened. He knew that as well as she did. And Gold hated to be in anyone's debt.

“I believe you,” she said with a nod before turning back to her toast. “I’ll talk to Emma Swan. But first can I have a bath?” 

Gold nodded, standing up again with no small amount of effort. Belle rather thought he could use some rest himself. 

“The guest bath is just down the hall,” he said. “There’s soap and fresh towels. Take as long as you need.” 

Belle nodded, waiting for him to leave. He stood by the doorway, looking at her expectantly. 

“I’m not wearing pants,” she prompted. 

“Oh!” Gold exclaimed, wheeling around, almost stumbling. “Of course.” 

He backed out of the room awkwardly. “If you need any...help, you only need ask.” 

Belle couldn’t help the little snort that escaped her at how flustered he was. Gold’s back hit the door frame and he turned around again, giving her a pathetic little wave before he shut the door, giving her some privacy. 

Belle pushed the tray off her lap, setting it to the side of the queen sized bed. Then she pushed herself out the other side. Her bare feet touched down on a thick, plush carpet and she let her toes curl into it, relishing the softness. Everything in Gold’s house was like that, luxurious and expensive. Even the furnishings of a guest room that was never used. He always did like fine things. It was one of the ways he’d lured her in, with wine and good food and expensive clothes. Jason had wondered where she’d gotten all her designer shoes and she’d lied about a consignment shop one town over. 

Belle sighed, shaking her head. She tried not to think about Jason. She supposed she would have to soon enough, if she was to tell this Emma Swan the whole sordid story. 

Annabelle stood up, her muscles aching at the effort. She’d walked more yesterday than she had in years and she was feeling it today. Her whole body felt tight and weak as she stumbled her way to the bathroom down the hall and part of her wished she’d taken Gold up on his offer of help. But allowing him to lower her into the bathtub, even after everything he’d seen last night, was too much. 

With only a bit of strain, Belle managed to get the water running, steam rising from the warm spray. There was an assortment of bottles on a shelf next to the clawfoot tub and she perused them as she waited for the tub to fill. There was shampoo and conditioner, bubble bath and foaming soap that smelled like vanilla and warm cinnamon. Belle added a few drops of the bubble bath to the water and soon it was bubbling over, the air smelling like lavender. 

It was heaven to sink into the warm purple-white foam, her aching muscles loosening and the sweet smells enveloping her. She’d taken a shower at the cabin yesterday, but it had been a quick thing with no scented soaps. For now, she could soak. 

It had been years since she’d had a bath, the frigid weekly showers at the asylum leaving her skin dry and her hair brittle. She relished working the shampoo into her neglected hair and she left the conditioner in for a solid ten minutes before rinsing it out. By the time she emerged from the bath some half hour later, the bubbles had all but disappeared and the water was starting to chill, but Belle felt more like herself than she had in recent memory. 

She combed out her hair at the bathroom vanity, taking in her haggard appearance. She hadn’t had a mirror at the asylum and she looked a fright, pale with dark purple circles beneath her eyes. There was no overnight cure for that. She needed sunlight and proper nutrition and more than one decent night’s sleep. But Belle had never been one for vanity anyway, and she imagined she looked a bit better than she had the day before. At least now her hair was clean, curling about her bare shoulders in chestnut ringlets instead of the frazzled mess it had been. 

She wrapped one of the fluffy white towels around her, heading back to the guest bedroom. The bed was made when she returned with a fresh pair of clothes on the end of the bed, just a pair of men’s blue silk pajamas. She supposed Gold wouldn’t have any women’s clothing at his disposal, being the confirmed bachelor he was. She’d never had a drawer at his house, never left any of her belongings overnight. He'd kept her neatly compartmentalized, separate from his daily life. She was easier to cut out that way. 

With a sigh, she pulled the borrowed clothes on, rolling up the too long sleeves and tying up the drawstring pants as tight as she could to keep them from slipping off. She’d need clothes eventually in addition to money and a car. She wondered if Gold had meant what he’d said, that she could go anywhere in the world. She’d always wanted to see New York. 

A gentle knock on the door startled Belle from her thoughts. 

“Come in,” she said, brushing her hands down her borrowed pajamas to make sure she was decent. 

Gold popped his head in. It looked as though he’d had a shower as well, his face clean shaven and the ends of his long hair still damp. He’d changed as well, a fresh suit on, black with a faint pinstripe, and a dark plum shirt underneath. He was back to looking impeccable as ever. She wondered if the guilt he felt would evaporate as quickly as his disheveledness. 

"Hey," he said, a look of what could only be described as wonder crossing his face as he took her in. "How was the bath?" 

"Good," she said, suddenly nervous. She didn't like the way he was looking at her, like she was something special or precious. She'd seen that look on his face before and it had all come to nothing. She wouldn't fall for his tricks again. 

“Sheriff Swan is on her way,” he said, stepping into the room. “Are you ready?” 

Annabelle blew out a breath, wondering if she was making a horrible mistake. She half expected the new sheriff to cart her off as soon as she laid eyes on her, locking her up and throwing away the key this time so there was no chance of escape. 

“No,” she admitted with a shrug. “But do the brave thing, right?” 

Gold blinked at her, his brows creasing together. He looked as though he expected her to say something more. When she didn't, he gave a little shake of his head. 

“Yes,” he said, a sad little smile playing about his lips. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.” 

Annabelle snorted. She wasn’t brave, just stupid. She believed the best in Mr. Gold and look where it had gotten her. She’d told the truth instead of running away and look where it had gotten her. Bravery had done nothing but get her in trouble, ostracized and heartbroken and locked away. 

"You are," Gold said again, in a voice that brooked no opposition. "You're strong, Belle. You're smart and perceptive and beautiful inside and out and you terrified me. I didn't deserve you and I knew it all too well so I let fear control me and I lost you. I'm a coward, Belle. But you're the toughest person I know." 

Gold finished off with a huff, as if shocked by his own candor. Belle just stared at him, shocked by his utter conviction. Is that really how he saw her? Not a stupid, scared, naive little girl, but a woman deserving of respect and love he could never give her? 

"You're so different," she said, wonderingly. "What happened to you?" 

"I lost you," he said again. As if that was all the explanation needed. "I lied when I told you I didn't love you. And I'm never going to make that mistake again."

Belle blinked, her eyes suspiciously wet. She felt like she should say something, but couldn't find the words. Maybe he was telling the truth, he had loved her and been too afraid to admit it. She wished it wasn't too late to matter. 

Gold nodded as if her silence was the exact answer he'd expected. "There's more tea downstairs. Come down whenever you're ready." 

"Wait," she called after him, and he paused in the doorway. "Will you stay with me? I don't want to talk to the sheriff alone." 

"Of course," he said, that sad smile in place once again. "I'm here as long as you need me." 

Belle found herself smiling back as Gold slipped from the room, the door closing gently behind him. She let out a ragged breath she hadn't realized she was holding, swiping the tears from her eyes. 

She loved him. She needed him. She wished to God she didn't. 


End file.
